sh (humanerror) wrote in onewaythreads, @ 2017-07-21 13:03:00 |
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By the time John returned home from work, all he wanted to do was kick back and relax. The surgery was short one doctor, so John had been busy for most of the day, taking up the slack. An hour before his shift ended, Sherlock texted him to say he was going out but didn’t say why or for how long - John trusted him enough not even to ask. Anyway, if John thought something dire was happening, he could always use the tracking device Sherlock set up for him, but he didn’t want to make a habit of snooping around to see what his boyfriend was doing. John had no intention of becoming Big Brother, and wanted to respect Sherlock’s privacy.
Heating up a bowl of soup from a can, John took his humble meal to the kitchen table and sat down in front of his laptop to scroll through his news feed, catching up on current events. A knock on the door drew his attention, and he immediately assumed it might be a prospective client, even though he didn’t have any reason to besides wishful thinking. Sherlock had a policy of only meeting people seeking their help during certain hours, but John was in the mood to break up the monotony of his day job with something more enlivening, like a good mystery to solve. As much as he hated to admit it, but he was addicted to a certain type of lifestyle which involved danger and excitement.
“Coming!” he called, getting out of his seat. He opened the door and stood there, staring in disbelief while his mouth silently formed the word What? before actually saying out loud, “You’re here.”
Harry hadn’t expected to find anyone she knew when she’d arrived in Preya. But then Mycroft Holmes of all people had made contact to tell her that her brother was in the country as well. John, here? In this place for people who wanted a new start, to get away from things? She didn’t really want to think about what that might mean for the state of his marriage. Yes, she’d bailed on attending, and hadn’t exactly been sure it was the right thing for John...but she’d never wish a failed marriage on anyone, least of all him.
So, wanting to see him and say hello, even if she wasn’t exactly sure what else she’d say, Harry made her way to the address that Mycroft had supplied. For a while, she just stared at the door. What exactly did it say when it took both of you moving to another country for you to actually pop ‘round to see your own brother? Thinking about that made her want a drink, so she took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
She heard a faint voice, then John was at the door, looking as surprised to see her as she’d been to find out he was in Preya. Harry managed a faint, apologetic smile. “Yeah. I’m here. And you’re here, too. What are the odds?”
Out of exasperation, John scrubbed his hand over his face. He hadn’t expected to ever see Harry again, but now that she was standing at his door, he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. Happy was too strong a word, and so was anxious and annoyed, but it was a combination of these emotions that had made him flustered. He did know he couldn’t keep Harry waiting in the hall. He nervously moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue and stepped out of the the doorway, making room for her to enter. “Come on inside,” he said, with a tilt of his head.
He closed the door behind Harry and watched her as she entered his apartment. “Good to see you,” he added, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Have a seat,” he added, gesturing with his hand toward the living room while he went to a kitchen cupboard and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Offering an alcoholic a drink was not a good idea, but these were the Watson twins. John didn’t even have to ask - all he had to do was hold up the bottle to show Harry and raise his eyebrows. If Harry declined, John was still going to pour himself a glass. “When did you get here?”
Harry hadn’t exactly thought far enough ahead to think about how John would react to seeing her, but she decided that whatever was going on with his facial expressions was more than likely a completely fair reaction. She stepped inside and far enough into the apartment so that John could comfortably follow and close the door. It looked like a nice place, so that was good, whatever the hell else was going on.
“Thanks,” she said, moving to take a seat on the couch. She watched him open the cupboard, then rolled her eyes but nodded in response to his offer of a drink. Knowing John, it would at least be decent whiskey, and talking would be easier--if perhaps not exactly better--with the edge knocked off. “Yesterday,” she said. “Didn’t expect to know anyone when I got here--new country and all--but then Mycroft Holmes of all people contacts me and tells me you’re here. And...well...I came here for a new start, so I thought the least I could do was visit.”
Two glasses were brought from another cupboard; John poured and brought them over, handing one of the drinks to Harry, then sat down beside her. “Mycroft…” John chuckled sardonically, because that was just the sort of thing that son of a bitch would do, send his sister over without warning. “He did the same thing with Sherlock. Told him I was here, but didn’t bother to inform me first. Uh….” John paused to take a nervous breath, and then he smiled to hide how awkward he felt. “... Sherlock’s also in Preya. We’re … well…” he gave the room they were sitting in a quick look around, “....we’re living together again.”
John didn’t know why he was so anxious around his sister. Maybe he felt exposed? Like he might be judged? It was irrational, because if there was anybody in his family that was on his side, it would be Harry, but their relationship had been strained over the years. That was why he hesitated to add that Sherlock and he were together together. A couple. Deep down, John knew Harry would be the last to judge, but it was still awkward admitting it out loud to anybody.
“A new start,” he said as a toast, clicking his glass against Harry’s, but before taking a sip, he asked, “So, what are you running away from?”
“Oh! Well, that’s good. That you’re sharing a place again, not that Mycroft keeps throwing surprises at you.” Harry decided that Mycroft was rather like a very smug cat that way, dropping little unexpected finds and no doubt feeling proud of himself.
She clinked her glass with John’s and took a swig. “Oh, Johnny, what am I not running away from?” She took another swig before elaborating. “Stress over...old feelings, old memories...old fears. I thought it might be easier to finally...move on if I was in a completely different country.” It didn’t seem exactly kosher to bring up John’s wedding, especially when it was fairly clear that Mary wasn’t here, which likely meant something. Harry wasn’t sure she wanted to know what, exactly, especially since it might have something to do with John being in Preya. That was the thing about weddings--you started them sure they’d last forever, even if, statistically, that wasn’t the case. And hadn’t been the case for her.
“Well. What a pair we are,” she said, raising her glass in salute before finishing it off.
She called him Johnny, which made John purse his lips together, tightly. He resisted the reflex to tell her, Don’t call me Johnny, because he knew Harry wouldn’t listen. Johnny was the timid little boy that lived under the Major’s rule, John was the grown man trying hard to put that all behind.
But what was more distressing was the way Harry emptied the glass he’d given her with three quick gulps. John had a tendency to use alcohol to numb himself when times were rough, but Harry had perfected that art, and watching her made him instantly regret giving her the drink in the first place. Reaching over, John plucked the glass from his sister’s hand and set it down upon the coffee table as a way of saying No more for you.
“It still hurts,” he said, not so much because he thought it surprising or didn’t realize this, but to be sympathetic. “How long has it been since your divorce?” he then asked, since he knew people came to Preya from different points in time - Harry’s break-up with Clara would be a good way to figure out exactly where she was from. “Moving on… funny… “ except it was not, “... that’s the same reason why I came.”
Harry sighed as John took the glass away from her. That was fair, actually, as much as she didn’t like to admit it. Good doctor, John. “Old wounds are tricky things.” She leaned back against the couch and reviewed the math for a moment, even if she was fairly sure she didn’t need to. “About...four years?” Admittedly, the days around the finalization of the divorce were a little...hazy.
So John was moving on from Mary in some way? Well. Harry couldn’t say she was surprised. Just disappointed that she’d been right.
“Four years?” John chuckled, because no matter how many times he was confronted by how people arrived to Preya at different times, it was still amazing. “You come from my future, then.” His smile wiped away. “For me, it’s only been a year or so.” Four years, and she was still experiencing emotional distress? Not that surprising, since the Watson twins were always emotionally sensitive, they only disguised and covered it up. Maybe a change of subject would be better. Current events? Sure, let’s go with current events. “You arrived on the same day as the explosion, then. Are you settled alright? I heard reports that a lot of records were destroyed in the blast, especially for the new arrivals.”
Harry’s jaw dropped slightly. “From the…” She closed her mouth. “Well. Can’t say time travel was on my list of things to try…” She shook her head. Well. If it had only been around a year and a half since her divorce for John...had he even met Mary yet? If he hadn’t met her, then he was here because--oh. Yes. Well. Sherlock’s apparent death. That had been a bad time for John. But now he and Sherlock were both here, and sharing a place again. Maybe they’d come to their senses about each other.
“Mm, I did, yes.” She’d sought out a place to buy alcohol after that. “They did mention the loss of records, yes. They’ve put me up in a hotel room for the moment.”
“You’ll find the time travel thing a lot around here. The next door neighbors? They’re from 1947, I kid you not.” John smiled a little, but it faded when Harry spoke about her living arrangement. His forehead wrinkled with worry. “That doesn’t sound very comfortable.” When he arrived, all his belongings had been shipped ahead and were waiting for him in the apartment Preya provided. Which meant, “You mean you don’t have anything right now? A change of clothes?” He grimaced and looked around his flat. “Listen, if you want, instead of that hotel, you can come stay with us. Until they get things sorted. I’ll have to ask Sherlock, but I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.” Actually, John wasn’t sure, but if Sherlock had a problem, he’d try to convince him to change his mind. Despite their estrangement, Harry was his twin, he couldn’t neglect her.
“1947? Bloody hell, that must have been a shock.” Now that, Harry thought, would be a hell of a thing to adjust to. There were smart phones now. And Google.
Harry shook her head. “I had the good luck of having some travel toiletries in my purse, but that’s really about it. And trying to find the shops didn’t seem like the best of ideas, given the circumstances.” Except that one that sold liquor, but that was different. She blinked at John when he offered to let her stay with him and Sherlock. “Really? Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude, or anything. But...it really would be nice, if Sherlock doesn’t mind, of course.” It had been...a long time since they’d shared a roof, but Harry had to admit that the thought of doing so under vastly improved circumstances didn’t sound half bad.
Once Harry accepted the offer, John felt even more confident. “Yeah, well we… uh… have a spare bedroom that’s not being used, and at least here you’ll have a kitchen and a proper living room. We’re close by the train station, too, it’s really easy to get around. And Sherlock and I could show you around the city.” Just like Sherlock had shown John, the first time they met in Preya. “First things first, we’ll have to take you shopping.” He smiled encouragingly at her; when he first made the suggestion, he wasn’t sure, but the more he spoke about it, the better it sounded.
Harry smiled. “I’d like that. Both the showing around and taking me to pick out some things to keep until the manage to get things sorted out after...all of that.” She wasn’t sure what sort of...infrastructure Preya had, but they at least seemed to be doing a decent job of dealing with the explosion.
"I need you to help me hide a body," came Sherlock's voice from the front door. The way the entrance to the flat was situated, he only had a clear view of the kitchen as he was coming in. And because he was so focused on ... whatever it was he was doing, Sherlock didn't immediately pick up on the fact that they had company. He was actually dragging in a full-sized, fully dressed human-shaped person by the armpits, but it was only when he sat it on a kitchen chair and propped it up that it became clear the thing was just a crash test dummy.
That's when he noticed the alcohol cabinet was slightly ajar, and his eyes darted to the living room. "Oh," Sherlock said, moving the dummy's head slightly so that he could get a better look at who was visiting that clearly inspired John to drink. It took a second or two, but several deductions came at once: Sister. No place to stay. Hiding something from John. Twin?
Sherlock's expression changed. He looked delighted. Like an oversized child, he crossed the distance to the other room and promptly — without any warning — squished himself between the Watsons on the couch and grinned at Harry. "You're the sister," he announced, sounding pleased with himself for some reason. "Of course she can stay with us, John. We haven't done anything with the second bedroom yet." He didn't look at his boyfriend when he said it because he didn't need to. No luggage, Harry had clearly just arrived, and the Ravenmoore council was in disarray — obviously, she had nowhere to go, and Sherlock was all too happy to have both of them to himself. It was Christmas.
Amused, and only a little embarrassed by Sherlock, John covered his face with his hand and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. He took it all in stride, the declaration of a body, the rapid fire deduction; the only thing he hadn’t anticipated was how delighted Sherlock would be about meeting his sister. He made an annoyed face when he wedged himself in between, budging away to make room. “You don’t know how relieved I am that you weren’t referring to a real dead body, Sherlock. Our fridge doesn’t have enough room for storage. I guess I don’t need to make introductions.”
Hiding a body? That, Harry was sure, had to be Sherlock. Who else would barge in with a cadaver? She was at least as relieved as John was to it was only a dummy, but possibly for slightly different reasons. She watched Sherlock as he drew nearer--she’d read John’s blogs, but actually seeing the little cogs in the detective’s head spinning ‘round was different than reading about it.
She almost laughed when he plopped down between them. He really was something else. “Sounds like you need a second fridge, especially when you’re adding a third person.” Not that she hadn’t largely survived on ordering food for the past while. “And yes. I’m Harry. Nice to finally meeting you in person, Sherlock.” She leaned over to look at John from around Sherlock. She grinned. “He’s usually something like this, isn’t he?” And he’d mentioned giving her the second bedroom, which would likely put him and John to sharing--she really couldn’t see either of them taking the couch for that long--and that? That was excellent.
John tilted forward in an almost exact mirror image to peer around Sherlock at his twin sister. “Yeah, actually. He is. Sometimes he’s worse.” He smiled when saying that, which indicated that he’d become used to it, and he wasn’t really complaining. It was a relief that Harry didn’t seem disturbed by Sherlock’s off the wall behavior. “Warning, though. He does often keep body parts in the fridge. By the way, Sherlock? Why do we need to hide that crash test dummy? Did you nick him from somewhere?”
Sherlock glanced between the twins, eyes narrowed slightly as he processed all the information they were sharing, both through verbal cues and behavior. It was a lot of data that he'd have to sort through later on. For now, he set that aside, and pressed his palms together in a not-quite prayer position. "We were going to use the spare bedroom as a lab," he explained, which was only half-true. They'd been arguing about it for the past week and hadn't come to any conclusions. John would need an office if he started writing for any publications, and Sherlock had enough books to fill the whole flat (the sitting room was basically doubling as a filing cabinet).
He heaved a sigh when John called him out. "Yes, obviously. But I'll give Anderson back once I'm finished with him." That clearly wasn't important right now. Sherlock was back to staring at Harry as if a steady, unblinking gaze might yield all the answers he wanted. He'd need to be told it was possibly creepy.
“You’ve named it already?” Harry resisted the urge to call that adorable, though the sentiment was fairly clear in her voice. She glanced at the dummy; she wasn’t sure it looked like an Anderson, but a name would be easier than not naming it. In a way.
“Could help you shift it into whatever you decide to do with it. Once I’m not using it, of course.” It was the least she could do in thanks.
And then Sherlock was staring. It was a little...odd, but Harry felt a little challenge was in order. So she stared right back at him.
“You named the dummy Anderson?” John had to laugh at that, then leaned over to explain to Harry, “Anderson is a member of Scotland Yard’s forensic team, who was pretty much a dick.” He laughed again, because he thought it was so funny. “Harry and I were just talking about going out to the store to pick her up some essentials, since Ravenmoore’s misplaced the flat they assigned her, along with all her belongings. We can also get a mini-fridge for your room, if you’d like, Harry, but first we ought to… uh… Sherlock?” John finally noticed the staring contest going on. “Alright then. I’ll leave you to it.” He picked up Harry’s empty glass and and along with his own, got up and went to the kitchen to put them into the sink, finishing the remainder of his drink in one gulp.
"Dogs or cats?" Sherlock prompted Harry, apropos of nothing. He didn't blink yet.
“Don’t mind either, but never had either.” Harry didn’t blink either.
"Chinese takeaway or Italian?"
“Chinese.”
"Piano or violin?"
“Violin, generally.”
"Biscuits or scones?"
“Scones.”
"Coffee or tea?"
“Depends. Strong coffee upon waking, though. Generally.”
"Coastal town or land-locked?"
“Mm. Land-locked.”
"James Bond or Downton Abbey?"
“Bond.”
"What's your middle name?"
“You’ll probably laugh, because our naming is ridiculous: Jane.”
Sherlock blinked, then glanced over his shoulder at John. "I like her," he announced matter-of-factly, as if the interrogation had somehow solidified it. "She can stay however long she wants."
Harry actually did laugh then. “I’m glad I passed,” she said. The questions had been an amusing sort of interview.
John was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, watching this exchange. “Are you sure you two don’t want to share a room together?” he said, sarcastically, “And I’ll take the spare bed?”
“Nooo, you two should definitely share the room,” Harry shot back. “I’m--” not the one that likes men “--the lesbian.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. He loved John more than life itself, but sometimes the man could be so strange. "And I'm the gay one. Are we finished with the unnecessary suggestions now? Good lord." He finally left the couch so that he could retrieve Anderson the dummy. Poor fake person. "If you're going out, we need more of those gingernuts."
With Sherlock and Harry announcing their sexual orientations, what was John supposed to do? Declare, Hi, I’m bisexual? That wasn’t going to happen. While he cognitively knew that it was alright, and had essentially admitted to sharing a bed with Sherlock, John still couldn’t bring himself to admitting out loud who he was, even to his boyfriend and his twin sister.
“Do you still need help with that?” he asked Sherlock, looking at Anderson. “I reckoned you’d want to go shopping with us.”
As excited as Sherlock was to meet Harry, he sensed that the two might need some time together alone. It didn't make him happy that he couldn't somehow attach himself to both of them and stay there forever, but his recent issues with Mycroft had opened his eyes to the nuances of sibling relationships. What would he have wanted if he hadn't seen his brother in years? "I need to research first before I experiment with him. You can still help later," Sherlock said. He shot John a loaded look that said far more: go spend time with your sister. I'll be here when you get back.
Before dragging Anderson further into the flat, however, he briefly reached out to squeeze John's hand. Then he saw to getting the crash test dummy out onto their balcony. Because of course.